The Significance of the Back of the Bus

Back in grade 7 or 8, we were going on a ski trip and had been corralled like cattle into the GP room to wait for the buses to arrive.  The room was thick with anticipation, both for the actual trip and to see who would get the back of the bus.

- Quick pause for those of you who have never been bussed to school.  Seating on a school bus is like a hierarchy of coolness.  Like chickens sorting out their pecking order, so too are tweens in determining the seating arrangement of a bus. -

Back in the GP room, I was front and center at the closed door, fiddling with the metal latch to control my tension.  Little to my knowledge, the buses had arrived out front and the teachers, having heard the excited din of the auditorium, were strategically arranging themselves so as not to get trampled.

Suddenly -with my thumb still in the metal latch- the doors were flung open, tearing my thumbnail nearly clean off.

I ran at the head of the stampede...both out of searing pain and stubborn determination to stake my claim.  Once my gear was safely guarding the most coveted of all vinyl benches, I had to wait for the rest of the bus to fill up before I could do anything about my mangled thumb.  

As soon as I was able, I bee-lined for the office.  At this point my thumb was on fire and shooting flaming needles up my arm.  The nail was now only partially lodged in my nail bed and the soft white flesh underneath was curdling with blood and oil. I threw open the office door and as my vision went black and my hearing faded I shouted "I need Tylenol!"

Back then Tylenol counted as medicine so instead I got an orange juice box, a bandaid, and a stern suggestion to not go skiing.  Which I obviously ignored.

After a few hills my hands were too cold to register the pain anymore, but by the end of the day when I took off my glove, I left the thumbnail behind in the pocket of my mitten.

Such is the cost of popularity.

Here's "mud" in your eye!

This memory always make me laugh out loud (or LOL as the kids say).  If you ever see me just burst into laughter for no particular reason, it is safe to assume this is what I'm thinking about.  Hopefully writing it out can do the story justice, as most of the awesomeness results from knowing Jessica and having the pleasure of being there to bare witness.  Jessica is one of those unfortunate people who this kind of 'thing' always seems to happen to.  Luckily she has one of the best sense of humour that I know of, so even though she is a marked woman, she handles it with admirable grace.

The aforementioned Jessica and I were driving around Brampton in her unnecessarily large truck one afternoon, chatting away.  She had the window cracked a bit because she's a hopeless smoker.  Without warning, the windshield becomes covered in a pterodactyl-sized amount of bird crap and Jessica starts howling.  I'm laughing because the amount of shit smeared on the window really is impressive, but glancing over to share the joke with her, I see that after the load hit the windshield, it splattered around and was sucked into the open window where it met Jessica's face!  Luckily for her she was wearing sunglasses at the time, but one lens, her cheek and some hair were smeared in runny bird turd.

It was awesome.   Haha, I'm LOLing again.

Lying to my Mom

Though I pride myself these days as being honest to a fault, Lord knows I've done my fair share of lying in the past.  Likely even more than my fair share.  I am going to attribute that to being the middle child...not quite sure why, but I feel that my birth order gives me some leeway for being manipulative. 

Not surprisingly, I can list off a whole string of lies that I've told and been caught in, but today I feel a bit preoccupied by three lies in particular, varying degress of "so what?", and all of which were told to my mom.


In Kindergarten
Long before I learned to respect hygiene, I had to be reminded repeatedly to bring my gym clothes home to be washed.  My mom would tell me before I got on the school bus in the morning, and ask where they were when I got home in the afternoon.  Each day I would both forget to bring them home and be unconvinced why it was important to have clean shorts.  She tried a new tactic one day, of writing me a note and sticking it in my lunch bag.  Being that I was in kindergarten and just learning to read, the note was mostly comprised of the types of hyrogliphics that children can read.  It looked a little something like this:

I remember finding that note, reading that note, and liking that note.  I remember using my gym clothes, thinking about that note, and stuffing the note into my little red gym clothes bag with the sweaty garments after gym was done.  And then I remember going home without the bag, without the clothes, and without the note.  My mom was exasperated and wanted to now why I didn't bring them home this time.  I knew I was out of "I forgot's" so I resulted to an "I can't read" instead.  It was probably one of the first lies I told my mom and I remember feeling horribly guilty about it.

I'm pretty sure I brought them home the next day.

(here's another Kindergarten lie I've told)

In Middle School
This one is a bit on the silly/irrelevant side, but it's something that's stuck with me over the years.  I found a piece of maroon chain-mail once at a secondhand store.  I don't have a good reason why I liked it so much, other than it was fun to play with and tickled when you dragged it over your skin.  I used to keep it slung over the arm of my couch and liked to drape it over my face like a mask.  No excuses, I am a bit weird.  One Christmas during middle school my mom bought me a little black cocktail purse that had a patchwork of black, silver and white chain-mail decorating one side.  She was really excited to give it to me.  She said "It was expensive, but I knew you'd love it". I didn't really like it, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings so I said "thanks" and tucked it into my closet where it collected dust between the metal hoops for the next few years.

Now that I'm older I've grown to like it and every time I use it I get compliments on it.  However, using it always reminds makes me a bit sad.  That one purse has become an embodiment of all the things that I never appreciated or knew enough to acknowledge for my mother.  I wonder if she was disappointed at my lack of enthusiasm over the purse that she spent too much on, thinking that I'd love it.  I know in the grand scheme of things that even though she probably forgot about it before too long, I probably never will.

Strange how sometimes the small things get carried forward with you.



In Highschool
When I was in grade 9 we were entering a new school and meeting all kinds of new friends.  My parents were quite a bit more strict than most of my friends' parents.  My dad was clear on how he felt about me dating, I still had an enforced bedtime, and it was a struggle to convince them that I should be allowed to a sleep over at a friend's house.  On one special night, I managed to disobey all of the above policies.  Tammy's mother was away for the weekend and she was having a house party that nearly all of grade 9 was invited to.  I HAD to go.  It was imperative.  My girlfriends and I collaborated and each told our parents that we were sleeping over at each others houses.  All our parents knew each other so there was no need to call, check up on us, or ask too many questions.

 In hindsight, my parents were totally right in not wanting me to go to that sort of function.  If I was a weaker girl or had shitty friends I definitely could have gotten myself into some pretty bad trouble that night.  Some examples are:  Craig got high for the first time, and Richard he put an imaginary box on his head.  Craig was near tears.  I remember trying to reason with him that that was no box on his head, but one cannot reason with a high 14-year-old.  Laura at one point was dared to get into the dryer.  She did, and she fit perfectly, even with the door closed.  Luckily we were around to prevent people from being really stupid, and she emerged safely without incident.  A couple boys then suggested she go outside with them, and we dutifully went after her once we realized she was gone.  She returned without incident.  Mark decided he need to puke, a lot, and immediately.  Very few shoes escaped without incident that night.  My first boyfriend was also at that party, but he had a hockey game in the morning so his mother came to pick him up.  She allowed him to date, so she knew who I was, and she tried to drive me home.  I lied to her too, and said I was leaving soon with my girlfriends, but in fact we just spent the whole night at the party. 

For whatever unprecedented reason the universe came up with, early the next morning my mom needed to call me at my friend's house which turned into a chain of phone calls among our parents, dismantling our lies.  When I got home that afternoon:

Mom - Did you have fun last night?
Me - Yes.
Mom - Where were you again?
Me - Jackie's.
Mom - Wanna try that one again?
Me - Um...Tammy's?

And it all went downhill from there.

Finding Hope

It's been a long time since I wrote anything here...my apologies.  It's kind of exciting that since I last checked my hit counter is a bit higher anyway!
This entry title sounds really deep.  It's a bit misleading.  This is a nice memory, but definitely not as life-altering at the title would suggest. 


My first real job was working at Wild Water Kingdom when I was 14 /15 years old.  Despite the long hot hours working outside in an airless pen filled with potent rubber tubes, it was a pretty good first job.  Working in a water park was pretty awesome, since after your shift you could cool off with a few trips around the lazy river.  It also served to learn an important lesson about wearing flip flops in public change rooms, as I remember getting a planter wart from going barefoot. 

NB: I just Googled "planter wart" to add an educational picture to this post, but apparently Google only sees fit to show the most extreme disgusting cases available.  I don't suggest looking them up. 

One afternoon, a friend and I were manning the tube pen and noticed a cute little girl about 2 years old wandering around by herself near the wave pool.  Since Wild Water Kingdom is crawling with kids, we watched her for a couple minutes to make sure she wasn't being chased by a parent.  We figured she alone and I left my post to go bring her to the Lost Children's station.  She was happy as, well, a kid in a water park, totally unphased at having lost her mother.  I barely understood a word she said, but was able to figure out her name was Hope from the little gold bracelette she was wearing. 

As we crossed the bridge over the lazy river, we were able to see the Lost Children's hut, where a young mother was bawling her eyes out...full convulsions, completely loosing it.  She saw us coming down the stairs and raced over faster than I've ever seen a human being move.  She grabbed her daughter and hugged the air out of her, then ran away, both of them crying now.  It was such a touching scene that I still get a bit choked up when I think about it.

About a week later she wrote an email to the water park, thanking the staff for finding her daughter and apologizing for running away to fast to thank me herself.

Side note: At Wild Water Kingdom staff could earn "Hugo Bucks" when they did something above and beyond.  At the end of the season, they had an auction for a bunch of cool stuff that you could purchase with your Hugo Bucks.  I think I got a sweet 5 Hugo Bucks for that one :)

Running Away from School - AKA - In the Trees Talking to Birds

If only I were this cute...

I was fortunate enough not to have to grow up with having a terrible last name.  Or at very least, was fortunate enough not to grow up around terribly clever children.  I embraced "Rotten" myself fairly early on and so even if the other kids had though of calling me that, it wasn't an issue for me.  Other than that I was only ever called Otter, but otters are wicked clever and freaking adorable so that's hardly an insult.

Back in grade 5, we had a substitute teacher for French class.  Childhood rules clearly state that no work is to be done while under the supervision of a substitute teacher.  As such, Jeremy was testing out how I responded to being called an otter.  In kind, I tested out how he enjoyed being called Frosty the Snowman.  After a short period of consideration,  he let me know that he'd rather be cool than swim well.  The two of us were at a standstill.  Lesrick decided to try jumping in, but neglected to realize that with a name like Lesrick, he was a bit vulnerable to being called "Lessy-rick".  And by sitting across the desk from him, my shin was vulnerable to a good swift kick.

I was too proud to show weakness and cry, despite feeling like my bone had cracked.  Luckily for me and the poor substitute teacher, the lunch bell rang then and we were able to leave for lunch.

Both feelings and shin bruised, I opted to walk home and play sick for the rest of the day.  Unfortunately, as my mom wasn't expecting me home for lunch, my house was locked and I couldn't get in.  No matter, I went next door to camp out at Aunt Barb's until mom returned.  Wincing in pain from my shin, Aunt Barb believed I was sick, called the school to report my absence, and I spent a relaxing afternoon lying on her couch watching The Flintstones and Out of This World.

An hour or so later, my mom is at the door and looking very serious.  She had arrived home to find teachers looking in our windows and in our backyard.  My homeroom teacher had noticed that I was missing after lunch, causing a school wide lock-down (or what was then known as all grade 5's hang out in the gym with minimal supervision) while the teachers combed through the parks and creeks between my school and my house.

Holy crap was I in trouble.

My mom sent the teachers back their classes and I was due to meet with the principal the next morning.  My fake-sick day turned quickly into a real sick day thinking about the heap of trouble I was in for.

The next day my mom drove me to school and we went to meet with the principal.  She gave me a reaming about how they nearly called the police thinking that I'd been abducted.  They sent teachers combing through the creek just in case I had drowned.  Everyone was worried sick about where I was, and my teacher had been in tears.  At this point, so was I, so my mom calmly turned the discussion around.

Did they check the auto-absentee phone line?  No, they didn't, otherwise they'd have known where I was.

Did they call my emergency contact?  No, they didn't, otherwise Aunt Barb would have told them I was there.

Should they have called the police without checking those two basic first steps?  No.

I had never been so grateful.  I was able to walk out of the principal's office with my head held high and most importantly without detention. 

Back in class, I was a bit of a star.  Everyone was really pleased about the free gym time and wanted to know where I had gone.  My story wasn't that exciting (I didn't tell them that I left because of being kicked in the shin) but apparently the rumours flying around the school were.  The best one, and consequently the only one I remember, was that I had climbed a tree and was talking to some birds. 

The icing on the cake is that while I was missing, Lesrick and Jeremy were bragging that I had run away because they called me Otter.  Both of them got detension, while I did not.

When I Discovered I Was White

I've sat on writing this post since I began this blog.  It is one of the clearest memories I have as a child as it was such a revelation for me, but race is always a strange thing to talk about because it's so easy to offend, especially when I haven't been victimized by it.  That said this blog is about my memories, and this is my memorable memory as I remember it.

 ~

I recall very clearly the day when it was revealed to me that people come in different colours.  Prior to that day, I don't believe it ever occurred to me.  Brampton was a wonderfully diverse city to grow up in and as my family was quite active in community sports, clubs, and activities, and went to a public school, we were well exposed to many different cultures from the very beginning.  Over the last few years Brampton has apparently gotten worse for gangs, violence, and cultural divide, but when I was young it was a very safe place to live. 

I was in Mrs Maynard's class...aka she whom did not give me a turtle...and the class was called to the carpet for a lesson.  One of the other children must have made some sort of a racist comment as Mrs Maynard began a very stern discussion that even though people's skin may be different, we are all the same inside.  She went on to tell us that sometimes people are judged because of what colour they are, and that is wrong.

I'm that nearly see-through kind

Wait.  What?  People were different colours?  I surveyed the class seated on the floor around me and was shocked to see how different everyone looked all of a sudden.  Shannon was white, and so was Matthew.  Natalie was black and Harman was brown.  I had gone to school with these kids for over a year now and never realized what colour they were.  It was sublimely awe-striking and a concept so bizarre that it just didn't make sense.  And yet...there it was.

Whatever else Mrs Maynard had to say flowed from one ear right out the other.  I was stuck on the suggestion that people were judged for what colour they were, even though they couldn't help it.  I like Shannon, but didn't like Matthew, and they were both white.  I like both Natalie and Harman----

WAIT!  What colour skin did I have???

I looked down nervously to discover that I was white.

And a huge wave of relief flooded me.

Despite just being told that everyone was the same no matter what colour they were, I already know within minutes that my life was going to be a lot easier that I was white.  It's hard to say exactly why I knew that, especially since I can't recall the rest of Mrs Maynard's lesson, but I remember clearly that one moment of complete relief knowing that I didn't have anything to worry about...all the bad things that she warned us about would not be directed at me...

(Interjection:  Okay, there I go being un-PC.  I know racism affects us all, and I know that white people can be racialized too.  This is just an account of my memory, and that was my honest 6-year-old reaction.)

These new revelations rocked my boat a little bit, but didn't change my life very much.  Shannon, Natalie and Harman (but not Matthew...I hated him) were all still my friends, but now I was conscious of our topical differences.

Vomit Stories

Bargain Herold's
Remember "Bargain Harolds"?  I like to think I had somewhat of a role in it's eventual demise.  When I was somewhere in-and-around 10, my mom took Trevor, Sarah and my cousin Amy with her to the Rat Plaza, with Bargain Harolds at the entrance.  As soon as we entered the mall, my stomach turned and I paused to puke while my family carried on ahead of me without notice.  When I was done, I realized that I had ralphed from one end of the Bargain Harolds threshold to the other, completely carpeting their entrance way with my undigested lunch.  I ran to catch up with my mom to tell her what I had done, but didn't make it further than 20 feet before I hurled again.  When I was done my floor pizza, I realized that now I had effectively sealed all the unfortunate Bargain Harolds customer's inside the store with my vomit force field.  I definitely needed my mom to sort this mess out for me, so I caught up and told her I barfed.  Except in my family we weren't allowed to say barf (or puke, or hurl, or yak.  Not sure about vomit force field, though as I just made that one up now) so I had to say 'throw up'.  She stopped in her tracks.  I thought I was in trouble for sure.

Mom - "Where?" 
Me - "Bargain Harolds door"
Mom -"Which one?" 
Me - "Both of them"

Whereas I would have been tempted to run away and pretend that it wasn't my kid that just made a guttural (pun!) statement on the quality of products and services at the store, my mom did the honourable thing and marched back to Bargain Harolds, jumping over the chuck and informed the Manager what had happened.

Manager - "Where?" 
Mom - "Your door"
Manager -"Which one?" 
Mom - "Both of them"

As we all left, my mom and myself quite embarrassed, Trevor, Amy and Sarah all dying of laughter, the unhappy Manager threw some cardboard down on top of my refurbished lunch.

Later, while exiting the Rat Plaza, we noticed that the cardboard had been removed and stacked up next to the mall's candy machine.  That nearly caused us all to puke again.



Doorway Vomit
Here's another quick one that still makes me laugh.  When I was really young, let's say 5, I woke up suddenly in the night and couldn't make it to the bathroom in time to throw up.  My mom had super sonic hearing and always knew when one of us was awake at night.  She came out of her room to see what was wrong.

Me - "I threw up"
Mom - "Where?"
Me - (pointing at her feet) "There."

Luckily for both of us she was wearing her slippers.

Sugar Babies

Sugar Babies.  Neither sugar nor baby

Back in junior high, our biggest project for Home Ec was Sugar Babies.  Not to be confused with these happy little exotics to the right, rather a very translucent lesson in what a pain-in-the-ass a teenage pregnancy would be.

Each 8th grader had to lug around a 2lb bag of sugar for two solid weeks, pretending it was a baby.  I personally found this project embarrassing, but I will conceded that we learned a lot about babies that year.  For example:

• Babies are square and weigh 2 pounds.
• Babies melt in the rain.
• If you drop your baby, you can sweep it up, funnel the mess back into its body, and tape it up.  If it's a big accident, you can buy a new baby from the store and throw the old one out.  No one will know; all babies look the same.
• Babies take up a lot of room in your backpack.
• New parents are lying.  Babies do sleep through the whole night.  And day.
• Your parents will forget that you have a baby and/or don't expect you to care for it at home.
• Babies are fun to throw at each other when the two weeks are up.

In actuality, all our teachers were aware of this project and which of their class members had Home Ec that semester.  As such, babies were not allowed to be carried around in backpacks and to be kept in plain eyesight during other classes, and could be confiscated and marks deducted if you mistreated yours or someone else's.  I believe we were even required to keep the bag of sugar clothed or wrapped in a blanket.  Parents were informed of this project and notified to maintain the strict guidelines at home as well.  Luckily my parents weren't so stringent, but Amanda's mother had her set her alarm a few times in the middle of the night.

Most students did this project with as little effort as they used with all their other projects, but not the aforementioned Amanda.  Even at that age she was quite convinced that she would end up being a high school drop out teenage mother, and no less seemed quite pleased with that notion.  Her Sugar Baby had a name and arrived each day with a new outfit.  She happily carried it around with her for every moment of those two weeks and refused to join in the sugar fight when the project expired.

After school one day, Amanda, Dana and I went to the mall as we were apt to do, and Amanda was intent on renting a stroller for her Sugar Baby.  We went to Guest Services and rented one without needing to  explain, as Amanda's Sugar Baby was wearing a sleeper and had all the extremities stuffed, so it looked like an actual baby.  Mine and Dana's were both halfway between infant-resemblance and looking like we'd just been to the grocery store.  As Amanda carefully loaded her baby into the carriage,  I said to Dana "I'll just put mine underneath."  As I went to do that, a lady came screaming and running at us out of nowhere!  She let us know with no uncertain terms that babies are very delicate and cannot be left under strollers.  She was quite embarrassed when we told her they were bags of sugar, but it only served to teach us yet another lesson about babies - there is always someone watching and willing to tell you what you're doing wrong with them.

The Turtles

As well as frogs and toads, I also raised a host of turtles growing up.

When I was 6, my mom and I went to Big Al's and the turtle tank was right near the front door. I studied the tank for a long time before choosing the tiniest turtle they had. I had saved up my allowance to buy Shelly and I distinctly remember he cost $7.99. Shelly lived on the kitchen counter in a plastic container called "turtle island" that had a bridge and plastic palm tree. He ate a boring diet of turtle pellets peppered with the squashed body of any fly who tried to make our house it's home.

After reading my journal, my grade one teacher Miss Maynard invited Shelly to join my class for show and tell. Always eager for a chance to show off, I happily complied. A week or so later, miss Maynard told me she had some exciting news for me. Her daughter found a little turtle in their backyard and named him Freddy (after Kruger, based on his claws). I was super excited, thinking that she was going to give him to me, after all why would her daughter finding a turtle be exciting for me? Sadly, this was not the case, but it did spark a series of careful backyard inspections and finally the accumulation of another $7.99.

Shelton brought new living accommodations with him, and joined Shelly on the kitchen counter. They got along well, sharing flies and playing with the cat.  Blackie and the turtles had a good dynamic.  Since salmonella didn't seem to be a concern in our house, we used to let the turtles walk around the kitchen floor.  They were zippy little suckers, despite the rumours about them.  Blackie would let them get fairly far away from them, then pounced and smack their shells with his paw to make them retreat into their shells.  Then later, if Blackie got distracted  by something, the turtles would attack his tail.  

When Sheldon reached maturity he starting trying to eat and/or kill Shelly.  Shelly was the size of a small dinner plate at this point so we decided to send him to university. That's not a euphemism for killing him, by the way, we literally took him to the conservation area at U of Guelph and let him free.  Now regarded as an unacceptable threat to biodiversity, at the time we thought we were doing a good thing.


Not too long later, I was playing at Fung-Ying's house when I saw a little turtle in an empty margarine container sitting on their kitchen counter.  I was upset and asked why he was in such a small container. Her brother had bought him for a friend's birthday, who wasn't allowed to keep him.  Thus, a margarine container.  To the delight of both myself and Fung-Ying's mom, Rocky joined Sheldon on my kitchen counter that day.

At this time I'm going to invite you to feel free to stop reading at any point...I have another 5 turtle stories to make my way through...

Still here?  You must be bored.  Or love turtles.  Possibly both.  Alright then, thanks for humouring me.  Carrying on...

Laurie and I were bike riding around the twin ponds one after noon when we saw a turtle near the edge of the water.  We got off our bikes to go check it out.  We were quite familiar with those ponds and as far as we understood, didn't support life outside of perhaps three-eyed Simpson-esque fish.  I'm ashamed to admit this, but I was too scared to pick up the turtle.  It was Laurie who grabbed him.  Despite having had three of my own at this point, this pond-caught turtle frightened me.  It might have had razor sharp teeth or some sort of venom.  But of course, it did not.  In fact, he didn't even see her hand coming because he was nearly blind with a disease contracted by neglect.  All of a sudden, me letting my turtle go in the conservation area doesn't seem that bad, does it?  Thus, "Pebbles" came home with me, and my allowance was diverted into turtle eye medication.  Because, yes, such a thing does exist.

At some point in this disjointed memory (remember the whole point of this blog is because my memory stinks), my Sunday morning habit of pouring through the penny saver and flyers got the better of me, and I bargained with my dad to buy a great big aquarium, complete with three turtles.  I was allowed to keep Stoney, Buddy, Frisky, and Sunshine (at this point I ran out of rock-related names) for the rest of the summer and my dad got the aquarium for his tropical fish afterward.

The story stops being interesting here (if ever it was actually interesting to begin with...).  I had six turtles for one summer, and all six went to post-secondary education in September.  I recall very little else about them, but having that many turtles at once must have been a trying summer for me, as it effectively ended my turtle-keeping.

____
Update: May 13
I just found this You Tube video of how turtles bully cats.  Mine weren't quite this vindictive, but it just goes to show you that turtles aren't pushovers. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFP6kzZJGOs&feature=endscreen&NR=1

My First Internet Experience

Brian was the first person who told me about the internet.  His parents were both professors at U of T, so he was also the first kid in the neighbourhood with access to the internet.

The day he told us about it, Sandra and I went to his place after school to check it out.  He explained it to us as a computer program that any computer around the world could access and share simultaneously via a telephone line.  It's comical to think of the dial-up tone now, but at the time when it was still revolutionary, it was nail-bitingly exciting to hear.  It also took forever to connect, sometimes multiple attempts, so the anticipation was intense.

As the internet was still a foreign concept to us, all we knew how to do was log onto chat sites. And being 12 at the time we didn't have anything worthwhile to chat about, so we pretended to be the most interesting people we could think of: teenagers. We amused ourselves by building a web of lies and congratulated ourselves when we had seemingly pulled the wool over our chat audience's eyes.  Ha ha, those idiots think we're 17!  We're only 12!! What losers!!   When our lies were too extreme and we were called out on them, we simply employed our 12-year-old skills of rudeness and then hung up on them.

Though this seems like a colossal waste of time, it did serve the purpose of teaching us some social constructs of the internet:

1) it has the potential to kill a lot of time without accomplishing anything.
2) people lie about everything. Take it all with a grain of salt.
3) manners don't count when you're on the internet. You can get away with saying and doing all the stuff you'd never do or say in a face to face conversation.
4) you can be whoever you want to online. Back then we pretended to be mature, interesting teenagers.  Now I happen to be a dwarf hunter with a pet bear on WOW. Whatever floats your boat.
5) really neat way to meet people on the other end of the world (unless they're lying about their location) and to see that they're no different than you (unless they're lying about that too)

Example:  You're reading my blog about memories.  Nearly everything I've written so far is bullshit.  Just kidding.  I'm a thirteen year old girl who has nothing better to do than lie to strangers on the internet.

My House Rules

We had a bunch of house rules. Some were followed and others not so much. We were spanked as kids sometimes, but the biggest threat of all was the unhappy-face paddle. Reincarnated from a paddle ball, my mom drew a sad face on it with a thick black sharpie, complete with tears. I don't know if my mom knew those were symbolic gangsta murder tears but they certainly got the message across either way. When we were bad, the threat of "don't make me get out the unhappy-face paddle" was all we needed to hear to straighten up. I don't think it was ever actually used though. I wish we still had it; I would hang it on my wall.
We also had the classic "wait until your father gets home" and "1...2...". 3 never actually materialized. Whether from us smartening up or if my mom didn't want to have to follow through with the mystery that happened after 3, I don't know.
We would always try to run when we knew a spank was coming. My dad was good at catching us by the arm as we tried to run by, and we were pretty good at crying before he ever touched us. Fear and threats seem to be the most effective parenting techniques.

Rules:
- Dinner at 5:30 sharp
- No individually packaged snacks. Strictly for school lunches only
- Ask before eating anything that wasn't healthy
- Must split 2 pops between the three of us
- Don't eat the chocolate chips or the baking chocolate
- no colouring on the fire place
- no smushing cheese slices under the coffee table
- Don't walk up the wrong side of the banister
- don't jump on the furniture

That's all I can think of for now. I'm sure there were many more.

My household was also very egalitarian. Treats were split equally between us...right down to the mm of pop or meniscus curve of chips.
The only fluctuation for this rules worked in my favour. Neither Trevor or Sarah were "activities" people, so I got to go to all the Brownie and Girl Guide camps, do all the swimming/skating/dance classes I wanted to. I never really felt that "forgotten middle child" thing. I was pretty demanding as I recall.

When Trevor was 8, his allowance was x and his bedtime was y. I could also expect x and y when I turned 8. That was a rhythmic progression until we were teenagers. All of a sudden those rules didn't apply any more because I was a girl. My curfew stayed early despite me pointing out that I was better able to handle myself better than Trevor should I get into an altercation. I also tried to spin the angle that Trevor didn't often use his curfew and that I should be able to use his overage. No dice. Eventually I wised up and started telling them when I'd be home instead of vice versa. Cell phones had entered the picture by then as well, which might have helped my cause.

Neighbourhood kids

Growing up in Brampton was really fun. We had a lot of kids in our street and here are some random recollections of them:

Lindsay and Gregory lived two doors down. Gregory was my age but I was later told that I preferred talking to his mom over him. I used to go ring their door bell and when she answered, I'd say "guess what!" and launch into an epic tale of what I must have considered of monumental importance. Being that I was about 5 at the time, I'm sure it revolved around my cabbage patches or the bugs that I found.

When the they's moved out, Jennifer and Billy moved in. Jennifer was too old to be my friend but she was nice. Billy was a bit tough and intimidating to me. Once when we were all out front, I found a worm the size of a gardner snake and thought he'd be impressed if I showed it to him. Unfortunately for both me and that worm, he reacted by throwing it on the road. I wanted to go get it and put it back under the rock where I found it, but I was too embarrassed by his reaction, so I didn't. Eventually a car came and ran it over. I still feel terrible about that.
Once I saw Jennifer kissing her boyfriend while sitting on the ping pong table. Might seem a silly thing to remember but he was Chinese and it was the first time the concept of interracial dating occurred to me. I think his name was Ozzy and he drove a motorcycle.


I was never particularly close with our neighbour's who lived three doors down. Cristina was a couple years older and Stephanie a couple years younger. I do recall Cristina throwing my cabbage patch doll Angela into the garage. She got a white scratch on her face and I never forgave her for that needless act of violence. I'm sure Angela didn't deserve it.
An embarrassing memory I have of Stephanie is once while we were playing in her room I was so distracted by the clutter that I started cleaning her room for her. When my mom came to collect me for dinner, their mother commented that Steph's room has never been so clean. I said "all you have to do now is vacuum it and you're good to go". Did I EVER get an earful on the walk home on manners!! Mom was sooo embarrassed.
Michael was Sarah's friend since they were the same age. When they were a bit older he would come over to dinner, I think mostly as entertainment. Probably one of the funniest kids I know. He's recently filmed an indie zombie movie with some friends. I can't wait to see it.

Shanna and Cassie lived directly next door. Shanna was a year or two younger than me and Cassie was Sarah's age. Shanna and I used to play swimming lessons on our front lawns, which involved one if us jumping off the porch and running around in crazy circles with the other one following as if we were on a water slide. The game lasted until the eventual fall down, which meant we splashed in the pool. Then we'd switch. I'm laughing out loud as I type this, it's so ridiculous.
My favourite game with them was throwing the ball over the fence. It was exciting not knowing where the ball would launch from.
Once I turned 19 I have Shanna my old ID. Two years later when she was 19 she returned the ID in a thank you card left in our mailbox.

Adam and Ashley lived a few doors down as well. Closer to Sarah's age, I never really played with them, but once Ashley was mad at Sarah and reacted by taking off all her clothes and riding her tricycle home naked. My mom ran after her and dressed her on the sidewalk.
Their uncle Tom lived with them and was a cowboy. At least that's what he told us. We believed him because he had a hat, wore the boots and had a cactus in his room. Thinking about this now, it is incredibly inappropriate that I was ever in his bedroom. My assumption now is that he wasn't entirely of sound mind.

Laurie's family lived down the street; specifically 15 houses away. I was their Kimmy Gibbler and was always over. I often went there in bare feet and thought they were really prissy when they made me put on socks before coming inside. Now I know that my feet must have been filthy and their carpets were quite light. Their house always smelt like "clean"...mine smelt like cigars and crayons.
My family never went out for dinner. McDonald's was a very special treat for us, and very rare at that. The first time I went to Pizza Hut and Swiss Chalet was with Laurie's family. I thought they were rich because they went out for dinner and Laurie and Sarah went to camp all summer. Years later Laurie told me that she thought we were rich because we had so many toys.
Once when I was over for dinner, Laurie's sister Sarah was angry at us for something (probably Nintendo related) and said at the table "you know, Dad says you don't have to have Julie over all the time". Awkward silence. It confused me because I never stayed without being invited. My dad referred to Laurie as his fourth kid so she was at my place as much as I was at hers.

This is a long post. 6 hour bus rides can do that to you (PS: I'm in Peru!)

Earliest Memories

Here are a few of my earliest memories, in no particular order or relation. That's what you're going to get from this blog...a spattering of nonsense that probably doesn't interest anyone but me. And potentially anyone I happen to write about. I'll try to keep the bitchy-teen-angst infused comments to a minimum this time.

We had just moved from Georgetown into our new Brampton house, which would have made me three. Our basement was unfinished, dark, and potentially full of monsters. Trevor, 6 at the time, was scared to go down there and as an act of defiance and bravery, I decided to upshow him and go down there, alone, in the dark. It was terrifying and I was pretty sure I was going to die, but well worth it in the end. This was probably the turning point in our relationship.

Again, basement story:

The neighbourhood kids were all in our basement, and as dumb kids do, we were running the circular path around the stairs for no particular reason. As I ran by, I accidentally knocked down a 2x4 into the path, but as the race was on, I didn't want to stop and pick it back up. In fact, I probably prided myself on a successful obstacle for the next runner to overcome. The next runner was unfortunately my toddler little sister, who stepped on the board and got a nail through her little shoe, into her little foot. I feel TERRIBLE!!!!!

That last story I held onto in shame until just last year, when I finally felt it was time to tell Sarah what I had done. She obviously didn't remember, as she was really young, but upon confirmation with our dad, he said that it didn't happen. Perhaps she just fell and there was no nail, or maybe there was a nail and she narrowly missed it...or maybe I dreamed the whole thing up. Don't know, but it's still a memory. So onto the blog it goes.

The day I got Blackie:

Mom had told me that I could get a kitten as soon as the fences were put up in our backyard. I was sitting in the kitchen looking out the patio doors, emphatically telling her that the fences were there, but I still didn't have a kitten. I was really angry about it and sulking my five-year-old face off.
Aunt Marg and likely Nanny opened our front door, as they came over every Wednesday for lunch. I was too sulky to go say hi, so I just sat slumped in the kitchen against the back wall. When I looked over, Aunt Marg was carrying a little black kitten and handed him to me. I vividly remember that moment, and how happy she looked to be able to give him to me. I felt nearly sick with guilt for being so angry at my mom.

Why is it that my earliest memories are charged by guilt?

Proof that I'm a thoughtless and unfeeling person:

When Grampa Les died, he and Nanny lived in Connecticut. Mom and Dad only took baby Sarah to the funeral with them and left Trevor and I with Aunt Caroline and Uncle Lambert for the weekend. I was probably about 4 if Sarah was a baby. It was the first time they'd been away from me, and it was over my birthday. I remember being very excited to spend a sleep over weekend with A Caroline and U Lambert, because they had a pinball machine in the basement and the little mushroom houses for their smurf figurines. Before Mom and Dad left us there, they gave me a birthday present to open. It was a girl-transformer, which transformed from a cat into a lipstick. It thrilled the shit out of me. Grampa Les, who?

Random, the day I became a "Big Girl":

One afternoon before I was old enough to go to school, I asked Mom to take me to the park. I decided to test her to see if she'd let me into the stroller and was really surprised when she let me. Feeling pretty pleased with my lazy ingenuity, I took the stroller ride congratulating myself the whole way. Until we passed my brother's friend Lindsay. She was 3 years older than me, and someone who I considered a "Big Girl". I was humiliated at being caught hitching a stroller ride, and never rode in one again.

Random, possibly the origin of my bathroom insecurities

More on the subject of Lindsay, she was an only child, had two cats, and super long hair. Though I wasn't aware of this word at the time, to me she seemed very bohemian. Once when all the kids were playing hide and seek, I thought she was going to go hide in the bathroom, so I followed her in there. She wasn't in there to hide, and didn't seem to mind taking a poo in front of me. Also very bohemian. She explained that when you got to go, you got to go, and once her mom didn't poo for a very long time and the doctor needed to sit his hand up her bum and take the poo out. I really wish I didn't know that story. When I went to high school and Lindsay was there, that story was all I could think about every time I ran into her, with her cropped green hair. Confirmed: Bohemian.

Short and Sweet...wallpaper:

My first room in the Brampton house had strawberry shortcake wallpaper. I was quite convinced that it was scratch and sniff, and used to sniff the different characters all the time. In fact, I remember giving it a lick, just to confirm whether it was also tasty wallpaper; it was just regular wallpaper flavour.